


Spark Joy

by zipadeea



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Character's Name Spelled as Viktor, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, KonMari | Marie Kondo's Tidying Method, M/M, Money, i stole adam rippon's tweet im so sorry, i swear i love marie kondo so much, i'm sorry if any of this offends anyone i know nothing, it inspired me, it was all done with love, omg idk what this even is, yuri has a heart of gold
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-18
Updated: 2019-02-18
Packaged: 2019-10-31 05:37:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,543
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17843489
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zipadeea/pseuds/zipadeea
Summary: The KonMari method and fairy godmother Marie Kondo encourage Yuuri and Viktor (mostly Viktor) to tidy up their lives.But sometimes tidying up brings to light the messes you'd almost forgotten.***Inspired by Adam Rippon's tweet: "I would let Marie Kondo reorganize the organs in my body."





	Spark Joy

**Author's Note:**

> AHHHHH I swear I love Marie Kondo. She a perfect and pure and wonderful human and I would elect her empress of everything in an actual heartbeat. Marie Kondo will fix the world. 
> 
> Then I saw Adam Rippon's tweet like right after I finished watching her show, and things spiraled out of control. 
> 
> This is the result.
> 
> I hope you like it, I'm so sorry if you don't. Idk what this even is anymore, but I'm still posting it.

It begins with Marie Kondo.  

“But, Viktor,” Yuuri says exasperatedly, “Does it  _spark joy_. Do you feel that warmth inside you when you pick it up? Is this essential to your happiness?” 

“Yuuuuuuuri, everything I own sparks joy, this is ridiculous, I would not have bought these things if they did not _spark joy_ \--,” 

Yuuri lets out a hard breath, looking Viktor shrewdly in his eye over the mountain of clothes on their bed.  

There’s a similar pile on the bed in the guest room.  

And on the couch.  

And the armchair.  

Viktor still hasn’t let go of the flat cap in his hands.  

“When’s the last time you wore that? Is it even in style? How could that be sparking--,” 

Viktor shushes him, wagging a finger in his face as he slaps the cap on Yuuri’s head.  

“There,” Viktor says smugly. “You look darling. Like young Christian Bale in that ridiculous newspaper musical. Seeing you wear this sparks _lots_  of joy in me.” Viktor’s whispering in his ear by the end, stepping even closer to drag a long finger down Yuuri’s cheek.  

“Viktor, stop--,” 

“Do you know, my Yuuri--,” 

“Vitya--,” 

“What sparks absolutely  _the most_ joy in me--,” 

“ _Vitya_ \--,” 

“And I don’t even _need_ clothes to--,” 

“Viktor.” Yuuri growls, physically pushing Viktor away from him. His blue eyes are dark, and he’s smirking. “You are not getting out of this. We don’t even have anywhere to—doesn't matter, you are absolutely not using national treasure and Japanese icon Marie Kondo, the most perfect and pure person in the entire universe to  _seduce me_ \--,” 

000 

They get a hotel.  

Viktor gets rid of the flat cap.  

Compromise.  

000 

Three weeks later finds Viktor and Yuuri at their kitchen table, sorting through old papers.  

“Alright, so fairy godmother Marie Kondo says we need to organize our papers into three categories: needs attention, short-term, and keep forever.” Viktor says seriously, studying the mess of white scattered on their kitchen counter. Viktor had been upset and skeptical at the notion of KonMari, until Yuuri _finally_  convinced him to sit down and actually watch the show two weeks back.  

Yuuri found Viktor refolding their laundry ten minutes into the first episode.  

“I would let Marie Kondo reorganize the organs in my body,” Viktor had said solemnly, looking up at Yuuri.  

Yuuri’s pretty sure Marie Kondo could feasibly take over the world, and no one would be angry about it.  

Yuuri gets through his papers relatively quickly—watching and helping his parents run the onsen has kept him organized when it comes to bills and important documents, but it’s never a bad idea to re-familiarize and purge.  

Viktor is another story.  

“I think my accountant has the originals, she’s supposed to take care of the bills, and she gives me the copies, but sometimes it’s emails too, and--,” Viktor rambles, crumpled up papers in hand as he rests his head on the pile. “This is not very responsible, is it?”  

“Your accountant could run away to South America with all your money and you wouldn’t know until your credit card was declined.” 

“Olga would  _never_ \--,” 

Yuuri laughs. “It’s okay, Vitya. It’s not that bad, we can organize it, and make a spreadsheet of expenses and--,” Yuuri spies a paper, with familiar dates among the jumbled cryillic. “Vitya, is this your birth certificate?” 

Viktor raises his head to stare at the wrinkled paper. There’s a coffee rim on the corner, and a red stain that has an equal possibility of being jam or blood left of center.  

“Yes.” Viktor lowers his head back down to the table.  

“You need help.” 

000 

So, eventually, they get the papers organized, throwing out the unnecessary and creating neat folders for the copies of bills and invoices and deposits that Olga sends over for Viktor. Yuuri helps as much as he can, asking questions and muddling through the written Russian with his own rudimentary skills. He’s more present for the moral support, which Viktor informs him is entirely vital to the KonMari process.  

“I don’t see how people can possibly accomplish this process without a lovely Japanese person to keep them on track. I would be lost without you, my darling.” 

“Are you calling me a woman? Also, that’s kind of racist.” 

“I love you so much.”  

So Yuuri tries to help, and sorts and shreds and sorts again, until coming upon a name he recognizes.  

“Why is Yakov on this one?” Yuuri asks, breaking the comfortable working silence in to which they’ve fallen.   

Viktor looks up and squints at the print on the page Yuuri is holding. He needs to go to the eye doctor, Yuuri’s been saying so for months. Viktor is insistent he will look absolutely terrible in glasses, especially standing beside Yuuri in glasses, and resolutely refuses.  

So, he squints instead.  

“Oh, it’s Yakov’s coaching fees,” Viktor says idly, turning back to the paper in his hands. “Save that one, I’ll talk to him tomorrow and make sure it was paid.” 

Yuuri nods along, and turns to put the invoice in the “needs attention” paper pile, before stopping short, tensing like cold water has been thrown at his back.  

Coaching fees. 

“Viktor,” Yuuri whispers, “Viktor, I haven’t paid you yet. Oh my God, it’s been over a year, this is ridiculous, oh my GOD.” Yuuri stands abruptly.  

Viktor stares up at him and tilts his head, confused. “Yuuri, what are you talking about?”  

“I have never paid you for being my coach! Not once! Oh my god, I owe you so much money, and I don’t--shit, I’ve never split the rent, or the utility bills, and you paid for our flights to Worlds and I didn’t even—Viktor.” Yuuri gulps, breaths heaving.  

Viktor stands and grabs his arm. “Yuuri, you’re being ridiculous. You don’t owe me any money.” 

“Yes, I do.”  

“I don’t want your money, Yuuri--,” 

“But Viktor, I--,” 

“I don’t  _need_  your money, Yuuri.” 

000 

It’s the worst fight they’ve ever had.  

It inevitably devolves from money to their relationship, to marriage and their own insecurities.  

Viktor tells Yuuri he’s just anxious. He’s being a control-freak. That letting other people care and help isn’t being weak, and he’s very stupid to think so.  

Yuuri tells Viktor he’s careless. Calls him and idiot. Says the world has let him slide on by because he’s Viktor Nikiforov, and Yuuri’s is never going to be able to measure up, will always feel less than, especially with Viktor acting the way he does.  

Viktor tearfully says it would be wrong to take Yuuri’s money. All he needs is Yuuri and their love.  

Yuuri says he didn’t come to Russia for a sugar daddy.  

Viktor slams the door on his way out.  

000 

“Is Viktor at the rink?” Yuuri asks, without bothering to say hello. 

“How should I know, pig, I’m not at the--,” 

“Stop lying. I know you’re at the rink. Is Viktor there?” Yuri sighs. Yakov is making him take a week off for his strained knee. Yuuri knew he’d be there the minute the rink was empty.  

“No, the old man is not here. Why--,” 

“Good.” Yuuri grabs his skates and runs.  

000 

“What the fuck happened?” Yuri asks quietly, after watching Yuuri skate furiously and continuously for the last hour.  

“Nothing.” Yuuri bites out.  

Yurio grabs his arm. “You’re crying. What happened, Yuuri?” 

Maybe it’s the fact that he’s been crying and didn’t even realize it. Maybe it’s that Yuri has just called him by his actual name for the first time in living memory.  

Maybe it’s that the angry sixteen-year-old looks sad and a little frightened and not angry at all.  

Whatever the case, the story just kind of vomits out of Yuuri. 

“And--and then,” Yuuri gasps out. Yuri hands him another tissue, where they sit in the bleachers. “And then I called him a sugar daddy, oh my God, Yurio, I’m so awful, I’m so mean, and I just need his love, too, you know? But I can pay him, I should pay him, and the fact that he didn’t even expect it, never even brought it up, it’s so...” Yuuri trails off.  

“Sorry. Sorry I laid this all on you, you don’t have to, it’s our problems and--,” 

“Katsudon, shut up. I’m young, not stupid. You can—you can talk to me about stuff. I mean,” Yuri backtracks, eyes wide, “Not the gross stuff, I absolutely never ever want to hear about the gross stuff. But you can talk to me about the other things. We—we're friends.”  

Yuuri valiantly refrains from bursting into more sobs.  

“Look, just—you need to understand, Viktor has never, at least as long as I’ve known him, had to worry about money. I dunno much about his family and childhood and all that shit, so maybe it was hard once but he’s--even when he wasn’t winning every single time, Viktor was popular. He was always the one to watch, he had sponsors and modelling contracts and his winnings. It wasn’t a worry for him like it was for you.”  

Yuuri’s not offended—Yurio’s just stating a fact. When Yuuri went home to Hasetsu, it was mainly because he didn’t know if he should skate anymore. But he also, without the winnings from Nationals, and new sponsorship and the extended season—truly couldn’t afford Ciao Ciao’s coaching fees to continue.  

“But I get it.” Yuri says it softly, and the ache in his voice makes Yuuri’s heart hurt. “We didn’t, we never had much growing up. Grandpa worked really hard, but Mom, she--,” Yuri lets out a hard breath, “Mom wasn’t always around. And Grandpa tried so hard to make things good, to get all the ends to meet, but I know it was tight. It was always tight.  

“And I can remember being six or seven, watching Grandpa sitting there one night with his head in his hands, just staring at the pile of bills on the table. And I walked over and told him, ‘It’s okay, I don’t need to skate anymore. I don’t need the lessons.’ 

“And he looked at me, and he told me, ‘We must always make room for the things that give us the most joy. Skating gives you so much joy. And watching you skate, seeing you happy, that gives me more joy than anything else.’” 

Yuuri wraps his arms around Yurio. He doesn’t pull away.  

“It got a little better, with skating at least. I got scholarships for Yakov’s camps, and when I really started competing, Yakov waived my coaching fees, said I could pay him after I won. Said I had too much potential to let go.  

“It was scary sometimes, though. He never said it, but it just, it always felt like I was one loss away from being finished, from not skating again.”  

Yuri smiles, blindingly bright. “But then, I would always just think about Grandpa. Grandpa doesn’t care if I’m any good at skating, he doesn’t care if I win. He just loves it because it makes me so happy, and when I remembered that...” Yuri trails off, then looks Yuuri hard in the eye.  

“You feel like you owe Viktor. You want to repay him for what he’s given you. I get that, too. You better believe the first thing I did after I won the Grand Prix final was replace Grandpa’s shitty old car.” Yuuri can’t help but smile. “But maybe Viktor just—maybe he thinks coaching you is kind of a selfish thing, you know? Maybe it gives him so much joy, he just, being paid for it would be weird for him. Does that make sense?”  

“Yeah. Yeah, I think so.” 

000 

When Yuuri gets back to the apartment, he finds Viktor in their bedroom, sitting on the bed, one hand petting Makkachin while he worries a crumpled piece of blue silk in his hands.  

“Hey,” Yuuri says softly as he finally walks in to the room. Viktor stands abruptly, surprised, and Makkachin woofs as the blue silk falls to the ground.  

“You kept this?” Yuuri suddenly asks, all other thoughts out the window as he bends down to retrieve his old tie. “You told me you wanted to burn it.” Yuuri rubs his thumb over the familiar stripes, unable to bring himself to look up at Viktor’s matching blue eyes.  

“You were wearing it the first time you said you loved me.” Viktor says it quietly, and Yuuri feels the burn of tears in his eyes once again. “Thinking about that sparks so much joy. I couldn’t get rid of it.” 

Yuuri looks up. Viktor has tears in his eyes, too. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry, I was being stupid--,” 

“No, you weren’t--,” 

“I just—it felt like you weren’t taking me seriously, like coaching me was just some passing fancy, like I was a charity case or--,"

“ _Yuuri,_ no _\--_ ,” 

“I know. I understand. It shouldn’t, I don’t know why that’s what I jumped to, I didn’t even think about it before, I just—you've given me so much, Vitya. So, so much, and I have no idea how to ever return the favor.” Yuuri looks back down at the tie, at the teardrops now staining the striped silk.  

Viktor’s fingers cup under his chin, making him look up before settling his hands on both Yuuri’s shoulders.  

Viktor tilts his head, bemused expression on his face.  

“You don’t owe me anything, Yuuri. And I don’t owe you anything. It’s not about making up for the past, it’s about the future,  _our_  future, and loving each other and taking care of each other, da? We probably, I guess we should have talked about the fees and the rent, and we still can, we will if that’s what you want—I just—why? Once we’re married what’s yours is mine and what’s mine is yours. Why can’t we have that now?” 

Then Yuuri hugs him and whispers apologies into his shoulder whilst Viktor crushes him against his chest and whispers apologies into his hair.  

And then they’re kissing, and then they’re on the bed and then.... 

Yuuri’s not sure if the reconciliation is quite worth the terribleness of the fight.  

But it comes close. Very, very close.  

000 

 A few months later, Yuuri receives a letter in the mail.  

“Oh. Oh, wow,” Yuuri breathes out as he reads.  

“What?” Viktor says annoyingly, pretending to read over his shoulder. “What is it, what has happened?” 

Yuuri feels a bit lightheaded. “I, umm, I’ve won an award. The Prime Minister has chosen me as a Person of Cultural Merit for this year.” 

“YUURI! AHH, oh my goodness, I’m so proud, this is so exciting, you’re spectacular, amazing, stupendous--,” 

“It looks like I’m not the only one being honored this year,” Yuuri says as he reads on, “Sometimes it’s two, even three people in the same—oh my God.” Yuuri stops abruptly before looking up.  

“The other person being honored is Marie Kondo.”  

000 

Viktor and Yuuri get many, many photos with fairy godmother Marie Kondo. Marie Kondo blushes as she informs Yuuri she had a poster of him up in her college dorm room.  

She still has the poster.  

“It sparks joy, Katsuki-san!” 

Viktor faints.  

**Author's Note:**

> I don't know Marie Kondo. I can't believe I made her an actual character in this. I'm so sorry *hangs head in shame* but it felt like a good and funny way to end this. Also, definitely messing with timelines here, but let's pretend there's like an alternate universe Marie Kondo who lives in the same world as Yuri on Ice. Okay? Okay.


End file.
